Drabble: Like Father, Like Son
Jan. 12th, 2010 07:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starsandseaTitle: Like Father, Like Son
Rating: PG
Characters: Bruce, Tim
Word Count: 339
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arch_schatten, who asked for 'Tim and Bruce, after Bruce's return'. Bruce is more... unhinged than normal here, but after what he's been through... Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.
His hair was longer. Almost like his own had been, Bruce thought, before... everything. But not after it all, when his hair had been much longer. Or no, it was before it all, wasn't it?
He understood that franticness, that focus, where everything else became irrelevant, when you only concentrated on your self given mission. His eyes were tired. Lost and so alone, but full of resolve.
And Bruce smiled, because he knew that look as well. The look you got when you were close to the brink, running on nothing, feeding off yourself, and when nothing, nothing could stop you because you were moving too fast for there to be any damage done; dodging all the bullets. All the people who tried to save you. The well meaning, but wrong people, because there was nothing wrong with you, really. Nothing at all.
Perhaps he was thinking too much. But then, he had had - he laughed - all the time in the world. To think. To do nothing but think and plan and yearn and hope. For Gotham. For his family.
And then to find that everyone had moved on. That they had accepted his death. Dick was Batman now. And Bruce? Well, Bruce wasn't needed anymore, was he? Except for by one person.
"Hello, Tim." He can't remember the last time he spoke. Tim looks... he can't describe it. But he doesn't cry and Bruce feels a surge of pride. Instead, he just nods.
"Welcome back."
His voice trembles, but that is the only thing that betrays him. Save his eyes, of course, which is why they wear masks.
Bruce doesn't smile at him, isn't sure he really remembers how to smile, but Tim seems to understand, anyway. He feels the pride again. Tim had always taken the most after him, of all the lost boys, lost children, he had taken in.
And Bruce thinks he does remember how to smile now. A tiny smile curves Tim face as well.
Like father, like son.
Rating: PG
Characters: Bruce, Tim
Word Count: 339
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: For
arch_schatten, who asked for 'Tim and Bruce, after Bruce's return'. Bruce is more... unhinged than normal here, but after what he's been through... Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct. His hair was longer. Almost like his own had been, Bruce thought, before... everything. But not after it all, when his hair had been much longer. Or no, it was before it all, wasn't it?
He understood that franticness, that focus, where everything else became irrelevant, when you only concentrated on your self given mission. His eyes were tired. Lost and so alone, but full of resolve.
And Bruce smiled, because he knew that look as well. The look you got when you were close to the brink, running on nothing, feeding off yourself, and when nothing, nothing could stop you because you were moving too fast for there to be any damage done; dodging all the bullets. All the people who tried to save you. The well meaning, but wrong people, because there was nothing wrong with you, really. Nothing at all.
Perhaps he was thinking too much. But then, he had had - he laughed - all the time in the world. To think. To do nothing but think and plan and yearn and hope. For Gotham. For his family.
And then to find that everyone had moved on. That they had accepted his death. Dick was Batman now. And Bruce? Well, Bruce wasn't needed anymore, was he? Except for by one person.
"Hello, Tim." He can't remember the last time he spoke. Tim looks... he can't describe it. But he doesn't cry and Bruce feels a surge of pride. Instead, he just nods.
"Welcome back."
His voice trembles, but that is the only thing that betrays him. Save his eyes, of course, which is why they wear masks.
Bruce doesn't smile at him, isn't sure he really remembers how to smile, but Tim seems to understand, anyway. He feels the pride again. Tim had always taken the most after him, of all the lost boys, lost children, he had taken in.
And Bruce thinks he does remember how to smile now. A tiny smile curves Tim face as well.
Like father, like son.
